I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our Town Hall.

The Clerk was Obviously a career woman, poised, efficient and in possession of a high-sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.”

“What is your occupation?” she probed.

What made me say this next, I do not know, the words simply popped out, “I’m a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.”

The Clerk Paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I started with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black in on the official questionnaire.

“Might I ask,” said the clerk with new interest, “just what do you do in your field?”

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, “I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn’t?) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out).”

“I’m working for my Masters (the whole darned family), and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?), and I often work 14+ hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.”

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as the completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants – ages 13, 7 and 3. Upstairs, I could her our new experimental model (a 6-month-old baby), in the Child-Development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone of the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than “just another mother.”

Good for her! That title is very fitting, indeed.

My mother used to say her name was M.O.M. (It stood for mighty outstanding mom).

And that’s just what moms are.

They are our caretakers, our healers, our best friends and our heroes.

The children in our story are lucky to have such a proud parent. She will undoubtedly pass on this notion of self-love and acceptance to them.